


Melt

by littlesecretgarden



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Apples, Chocolate, Erotica, Gentle Kissing, Intrigue, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:00:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24980467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlesecretgarden/pseuds/littlesecretgarden
Summary: A gift of mysterious chocolates arrives in the Void. A taste is given, and Lucilius wants more.[Tags updated - you thought you knew. But you did not.]
Relationships: Helel Ben Sahar/Lucilius (Granblue Fantasy), Lucio/Lucilius (Granblue Fantasy)
Kudos: 25





	1. Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to S, S and S.

The tiny nugget of chocolate is pressed into his mouth, slipped between Lucilius's protesting lips. It melts slightly, against the faint warmth of his tongue and Helel ben Sahar's fingertips. 

"Good?" The Speaker asks, easing a little pressure on that chocolate to make sure it _stays_ in Lucilius's mouth. Yet the Astral creases his eyes, silvers of blue lashed with white, annoyance on his face but it passes quickly as the sweet slides into between his lips.

"You do not want it?" Sahar's elbows rest on the table as he leans further in, the bottom of his thumb swiping Lucilius's lower lip, the lower cleft of his palm against the other's jaw. Melted chocolate stains Sahar's skin and he ignores it.

The chocolate is sweet, Lucilius likes it, does his face not show it? 

Lucilius's brows knit tight. The light touches on his lip leave an almost-pleasant vibration along his spine. 

There is a wistfulness in the Speaker's voice, or is it disappointment?

Lucilius wants to jerk away from that thumb, but he is shocked at himself enjoying the pleasure of the warm, cradling hand on his face. He relents barely, and his lips part, instinct over will, allowing the nugget into his mouth.

Sahar's thumb still rests on Lucilius's lower lip, knuckle crooked, working, lifting.

Making sure the chocolate in Lucilius's mouth is _completely_ eaten.

The chocolate is sweet. Sweeter somehow.

He likes this sweetness. Lucilius swallows, pulling in his cheeks again, trying not to let his agreement show. He pries his mouth away, his slightly reddened lower lip swiping away the melted chocolate on Sahar's thumb. 

_Sweet._

Blue eyes cast down, surreptitiously, with indecisive greediness to the box of chocolates on the table, as the tip of his tongue sneaking out to taste that chocolate stain.

Lucilius counts.

Nine rows of nuggets, rosettes, and squares. The nugget tastes of vanilla. He wants another flavor, his sight drifting over the rest of the selection. Another flavor. He is thinking very hard. Certainly, such mundane decisions do not require this extreme focus yet Lucilius is very perturbed. 

What might be the rosette, he ponders, or the square?

There is a tiny curl of dried pale-yellow fruit on the rosette.

Like a gibbous moon.

There is a smother of sparkles on the square, pink, white, red, and violet. 

It reminds him of his garden. 

"Another?"

As if he hears the thoughts, the broiling broodiness of making a choice, a tiny smile etches the corners of the Speaker's mouth as he rests forearms on the table, his shadow falling across the open box, his head canting to regard the box too.

Sahar is sitting too close, leaning too close. Lucilius regrets placing the chair where it is, regrets inviting the Dawn to sit adjacent to him.

 _Table, chair, table,_ mundane objects in the emptiness that mocks his sanity each time the Speaker visits. A reflection of what he is not to have.

The rosette is selected next, the Speaker’s fingers dipping into the box, lifting the chocolate.

The sweet is raised to Lucilius's lips. This time, he parts a tiny gap between his lips for this morsel. A scent fills him, encircling his senses like a moment long, long past.

_Apples? Apples…_

_Or is it?_

His mouth widens, greedily, like a tiny hungry bird.

Would it be the cloying aroma of the fruit or the soft sounds of approval from Sahar that are both so seductively appealing? So lavishly persuasive that Lucilius bids his mouth a little wider, for the chocolate to be placed within.

Lucilius closes his eyes, the rosette now resting on the tip of his questing tongue, balancing and tethering on edge.

The aroma of apples.

Lucilius is not mistaken. Ah, he is never wrong and with such covetous impatience, he is ready to draw the entire rosette within, to crush, and break the delicate chocolate shell, so he could indulge in the soft jellied fruit within.

So eager is he, he keeps his eyes closed, and something touched his lower lip. Not a thumb, it is not rough.

Silken, flesh-soft. Lips like his lips push swiftly close, presses, forming and lifting over his mouth. A kiss that breaks the chocolate on his tongue, that spread the taste of apples around his mouth, heady and strong.

He hears the scratch of a chair’s legs, a scuffing sound. Warm hands crave across Lucilius’s jaw, lifting him into further kisses.

 _More, more? It is delicious_ , a voice sings to him, chants and cries within his ears. _Who? Was it him who wanted more? Or he?_

More indeed, as Sahar's lips shift in butterfly brushes across his. It disoriented Lucilius, and his mouth is full of sweetness, inside, outside. 

A tongue tip breaches between his mouth, stroking the edge of his teeth, dipping, tasting. It ventures far, exploring, brushing the inside of his cheek.

_Sweet._

The sweetness leaves Lucilius light-headed.

His arms lift, wrapped around Sahar’s neck, his fingers clinging to the Speaker’s nape, weaving into his locks of gentle gold.

And they sink, together, compulsive, attached, swift kisses, slow kisses, kisses stained with chocolate, scented with apples. 

_It is sweet._

_So sweet._


	2. Provocation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A penalty, not quite given. A box of chocolates, returned.

Stars fell down around Lucilius. 

These stars, they did not arch across the skies, or chase an unknown destination, or leave a trail of brilliant dust. They fell, tumbling out of the blackness, sparkling, scintillating, shapeless. And they fell past the shimmering floor, seeping into the next layer. 

Lucilius tore his mouth from Sahar’s. He found himself kneeling on the same glassy floor, panting, sucking in breath after breath. Even the act of breathing was a chore. He stared through the polished surface, at the plenitude of stars falling further and further down through his prison layers.

The taste of chocolate was light still on his tongue, the scent of apples faint at the back of his throat. Lucilius lifted his head, his eyes examining the vast expanse above, the twisted, warped shapes that the other stars made in the blackness above him.

He licked his lips. They were dry and disgustingly swollen. Bruised by the Dawn’s persistent kisses.

Lucilius glanced upwards one more time, darkly curious. The stars seemed to have rearranged themselves into constellations he found so tediously familiar. His eyes trailed them, unconsciously joining invisible strands, connecting the points of silvery-blue in his head.

He soon realized he was staring into nothing as the stars swept away overhead, and blackness curtained in.

“We are not done yet, Lucilius.”

He dropped his gaze from the false heavens above and stared at the Speaker, his mind forming a string of incoherent curses, but it never left his lips.

The Dawn crouched, bending his forearms on his knees. Eyes of brightest blue narrow and curve into amusement at Lucilius’s discomfort. Sahar rocked forth, kneeling as well, facing Lucilius, and his hands reach out to grasp the other’s face. 

Dominating it was, the grip festooned on the bones of his jaw, and Lucilius could not turn away. The fingers were revoltingly warm on his chin, and they extended, spider-like, capturing his entire face. 

The Dawn’s wrists jerked, pulling Lucilius forth. His body careened for a moment, nearly losing balance, and he pitched forward, his knees giving way, scrapping against the smooth glassy floor of the Void.

“No.”

Lucilius snarled, fought, refusing to be drawn into another ludicrous dream of constructed desires and hapless harmony, his fingers clawing deep against Sahar’s forearms. 

“Come.”

He fought in vain, as his mouth was dragged forth, fastened to lips compliant and obliging to receive him. Lucilius gnashed his teeth, clenching, attempting to lash out. His eyes rolled upwards, staring at the nothingness above.

Breaths shared, heaved, pumped between mouths clutching at each other. Lucilius’s mouth was flushed, red and wet. Sahar seemed satiated, his thumbs dusting over the crimson lines of the other’s lips.

“Good?” Sahar asked, in the same velvety tone as he had asked earlier about the chocolates. 

Chocolates. Lucilius remembered that box of chocolates. A dour feeling rose in him. 

_What waste._

He should have eaten another chocolate before it turned into dust, along with the table and chairs. How many boxes of chocolates were ruined each time the Speaker decided on this particular act, this specific scene? Lucilius’s heart secretly mourned the loss of chocolates. 

There was a shuffling, fabric rustling, and pressure on his jaw from those hands.

_No._

Disagreement echoed in Lucilius's head.

He did not need to hear the Dawn to know the next question.

“No.”

Lucilius answered, his voice low and annoyed. He found he could move his hands, and he did, fastening his fingers on Sahar’s wrists. 

_Stubborn, and downright obstinate fool._

“I am not your plaything.”

Lucilius hissed, trying to wrench Sahar’s hands away from his face. The alien warmth of the Speaker’s palms unnerved Lucilius. The heat bit through his skin and burned through his cold flesh. He eventually failed. Sahar’s hands remained on him, riveted on his face, his jaw, burning an overwhelming heat into his cheeks. Fingers curl against his mouth, plying against the pressed corners invasively. 

“I am not your plaything!” 

Lucilius seethed against those fingers, his mouth pushed open to an unwilling gape. Fingers entered into his mouth. They ran across his teeth, pressured his tongue, and stroked the soft inner walls of his cheeks. 

Each touch deliberate, each contact calculated.

Lucilius’s thighs twitched uncomfortably as Sahar relented his exploration, strands of saliva dripping from the crooked tips of his fingers as they left Lucilius’s gawking mouth.

Was it his imagination, or was it real? Lucilius thought he saw tension riddle across the Speaker’s face. 

“You are not.”

Sahar agreed pleasantly, as his eyes cast downwards to Lucilius’s hands which still clung to his wrists. 

“Let me out.”

Sahar laughed. He laughed again, the sound of his amusement frighteningly soft.

His arms swept forward. He twisted his fingers around Lucilius’s wrists, and now, the other was captured, forcefully lugged towards him, their foreheads meeting.

Lucilius’s eyes widened. Not in panic, nor rage, nor dissent. A sinking sensation pierced the bottom of his stomach. Was it his legs that were trembling? His knees? His forehead was cold.

He knew the smile that was slowly enveloping the Speaker’s face.

_No! No… no… no… Not this!_

“I will let you out.”

The floor collapsed beneath Lucilius’s knees.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

Constellations razed past him, tattered and torturous bands of milky stars.

His head tilted back, and his gaze searchingly bright, brighter than the dull cyan pallor that was always in his eyes. 

There was a sun, and another, and he counted nine suns, twelve suns, their coronas blazing. Beyond each sun, a massive swirl of white, strange groupings of lights, crescenting and careening, sweeping away from him.

Lucilius fell. 

Thousands and thousands of years sweeping past him, and the constellations hummed songs of long time past, thunderously loud, achingly painful.

His stomach clenched, turning inside-out. His mouth split wide, a retch gurgling up his throat. There was a small movement, a touch that flamed—hands around his arms. Heated breath dusting his chest. A forehead, intrusively warm rested on his shoulder.

This time, the Dawn _fell_ with him. 

Their legs were mutually entwined, their hips and groins tightly pressed against each other. Lucilius felt another movement, a shift of limbs, as their legs interlocked even more closely, as skin rubbed against skin, and he realized he was naked. And so was the other.

They crashed through another layer, star-speckled and watery, and more constellations fled past Lucilius’s sight. The stars sprung up in glittering streams, bubbled away like frantic ghosts by his side. His back arched, as Sahar’s hands pushed, bending Lucilius’s form into a pale, graceful bow.

Closer, he was gathered closer. Whether it was in survival, or fright or in heed to the cries of the stars that fled past him, Lucilius pressed himself to Sahar’s body, putting his mouth to the other’s neck, his breaths quickening, his own chest heaving. His hips jerked upwards, as Sahar’s hands skimmed down, digging into his flesh, and he was almost sure the forceful pressure left an imprint.

Their heads pressed together, sharing the tiny pocket of air between their noses, between their open, gasping mouths. 

He was not kissed, not yet. And Sahar’s lips brushed many times against his, pushing air, pulling air. But Lucilius was not kissed.

A brilliant blaze of stars ignited below their writhing bodies, two forms attached to each other, an arch, a bow.

_Pleasingly fitted._

Lucilius exhaled against the Dawn’s mouth, his eyes closing. His stomach no longer turned, and the distressing feeling of free-falling had long since vanished.

He heard Sahar speak.

“Open your eyes, Lucilius. Are you watching?”

His eyelids lift upon command, and he saw the world through a haze of lust and arousal. 

Stars, and more stars melted around him. Their corpses dripped white blood, which flowed like rivers of pearls. His head tilted back even further, as a forceful kiss was made on his throat once more. 

He saw Time flee his sight. Time reflected in planes of glass stretching forever, upside down and spinning from his delirious gaze. 

_Who was that? What was that? Was it a past? Or a future?_

_Beings of golden hair, beings of white hair, suns, moons, alien trees towering higher than Babel. Fantastic creatures and landscapes that brought no sensibility to him. Songs sung in languages and tongues that were beyond his ken._

_There was a strange emotion, a foreign feeling._

_He did not belong there, not with them._

His mind floundered, but his body did not, and a growing carnality clutched at his groin. With effort, he lifted his head, his eyes glanced at the Dawn’s own, the blue in the other’s gaze full of a heated adulation. His legs were guided to lift and spread, his feet curling upwards into the emptiness.

Fingers traced down his spine, bending him even more willfully against the other—lips sunk into Lucilius’s neck, deep and reactive, clutching at a pulse quickening with desire. Lucilius immediately responded, his lower body jerking up to offer, his being suddenly hollow and wishing a connection.

The kisses spread further down his body, and they tore around his chest, wetting his stomach, dragging aggravated trails back up his collarbones, and to the curved arch of his throat. Fingers now pushed against his ass, spreading him with delicacy and strength.

Their bodies plunged for the last time. 

Through a layer so dark, all that was _Time_ and all the stars were swallowed, and everything vanished. He knew his eyes were open, for no lashes brushed against the skin of his cheeks. 

As dark as it grew, a desire grew with it. And all Lucilius felt was _feeling_ , the touch of fingers at his entrance, and they slid within him, plunging warmth and silky wetness, delineating shape and form. 

A moan stripped his mouth, sounds so quiet like unseen waves pressed limply against skin he could not see. All that wanting, that need to be filled and completed sprung up within Lucilius. His knees buckled, clapping insistently against Sahar’s body.

He was held open, but only for a moment, and Sahar replaced his fingers with himself, the tip of a hard cock pushing in, bare pressure as the Dawn teased his entry, not entering completely - but in gentle slides and pulls.

In, and out, lingering, quietly, a rhythm like the darkness that blanketed them, the darkness that suddenly dazzled even when there was no light. 

_“Lucilius.”_

Lucilius responded with a groan to his name, a rigid cry as he was hilted deep, Sahar’s hips bucking up against him. He could feel the sharpness of the other's bones, the amplified heat of the Speaker’s too-warm skin, the slow pump between his legs.

Hands tightened around the small of his back, gripping and kneading his ass, throwing him in waves of pleasure. Lucilius groaned, whimpered, unable to create any words from the spurts of air that spluttered past his open lips. 

There was another command in his ear, ragged, heaving. It cried desire, it cried love, and his hips hitched upwards, his legs widened further to be taken in deeper.

_“Come,”_

Would that be a command for him, or for them together, Lucilius could not equate. He shuddered violently, clinging tight to a body unseen.

The pressure inside him increased, and he trembled, his body seizing unsteadily around Sahar. Fingers pulled his hair, pulling his head back, exposed his throat for a mouth equally surrendering to the same, shared pleasure.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

Lucilius blinks.

He is seated on a chair. A white wooden chair. At a white wooden table.

A box of chocolates is before him. 

Nuggets, rosettes, and squares. 

_And bonbons._

Sahar smiles. 

**Author's Note:**

> Written because there's always room for dessert.


End file.
